


Angels Can't Fly?

by fluffyknickers



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: AU, Angels, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fallen Angels, Making Shit Up As I Go, Post DMC5, Reader is awkward, Serious crackfic, Slow Burn, V is Not Part of Vergil, Wingman Dante, attempted comedy, extreme tone shifts, im really not that funny, no beta we die like men, reader is an angel, shameless pandering, vergil is moody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffyknickers/pseuds/fluffyknickers
Summary: You're an angel who's been cast out from Heaven on a business trip, expected to deal with your upcoming transformation into one of the fallen.And who better to accompany you than the devilishly handsome men working at your new job, Devil May Cry?
Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	Angels Can't Fly?

**Author's Note:**

> putting-effort-into-shitposting-gang lets gooooooooooo

Angels are known as pure, celestial beings. They carry the weight of the world on wings blessed by the sovereign; a grace given to no other. Mortals tremble at their feet, wholly and holy, to sing the song of the lord. Praise be! The angels have arrived! Perfection incarnate, but limited by subservience. It’s the truth and nothing but the truth, they say.

However, it’s actually everything _but_ the truth. 

In reality, “angels” are just, well, people. More simply put, although angels have some unique abilities, their job consists of using a computer and printer, so there isn’t much need for anything else. To be frank, they’re office workers. They go to the workplace at the crack ass of dawn and trudge through the day only to be fisted with mandatory unpaid overtime. God, their manager who is often hyped up to be this all-powerful entity, _doesn’t even own the company_. He’s just a run-of-the-mill, slightly-more-powerful, angel. If word of mouth is to be believed, the actual all-powerful beings are the higher-ups, the owners of the company. No one besides God has _even seen_ the higher-ups (He goes pale when questioned.) 

You only know this because you’re an angel. Or, as you like to say:

“My name is (Y/N), and I am proud to be an angel!” 

Everyone in the dim glass conference room peeked up at you, the mood tense. This was the seventh meeting you had initiated in the _past two days_. You’re situated at the front of the room, standing proudly in front of a PowerPoint projection screen. In your hand is a laser pointer, its red dot frantically circling the title of the PowerPoint, titled “Why I Should Be Approved To Go To Earth!” in tasteful comic sans. 

Seated in the middle of the room, your audience knew to dread what was to come. The room was dead silent, save for a single person who clapped. It was God. He gave you his sympathies.

“I think I should be able to finish my presentation in only fourteen hours this time!” You exclaimed with hope, grinning from ear to ear.

There’s a collective sigh from the audience. Of them, God raises his hand, and the surrounding coworkers looked at him hopefully. There was a slight hesitation to his voice as he began to speak.

“Perhaps, ahem, we should all go on an early lunch break?” He proposed. Almost instantaneously, your coworkers shuffled and scurried out of the room. It was only you and God, now. He, still sitting, was spacing out, presumably lost in thought.

To say you were sulking would be an understatement. This was supposed to be your big break. You were supposed to do something _besides_ paperwork for once, and you’d always wanted to live among the humans just like in the movies. God’s aged face was compassionate, and he approached the door to leave, before turning to face you with a sympathetic smile. 

“You’re approved. Thank me on the way down.”

And thank him on the way down you did, as your vision blurred and you felt yourself falling, speeding through both the floor and the clouds. Sooner than later, your body reoriented itself so that you were now upside down, and powerful winds collided with your face. You couldn’t even open your eyes to gain some idea of what was happening. This morning’s doughnuts stirred deep within you, offering to greet you face to face. 

_Ugh, I don’t feel so good..._

You crashed face-first onto concrete. The impact wasn't painful, albeit unbearably intense, crushing your skeleton, splitting your skull open. Your brain bubbled out onto the pavement like a cracked egg. It _reeked_ , the smell causing you to hurl chunky bits of doughnut all over yourself. In hindsight, washing breakfast down with orange juice wasn’t the smartest idea. 

Now your body had to repair itself, and only God knows how long that would take. 

Maybe you should’ve asked him beforehand. He always did know more about you than you did yourself.

A few minutes later, after remaining still and keeping your breathing even, your body began to repair itself. Although being an angel meant you could take a lot of damage, you weren’t immortal. Some gnarly bruising was inevitable, but the majority of the damage would be negated by your natural healing. _Thank God_. After about half an hour, you could finally stand. It would be hours before you were fully healed.

You looked around, trying to get some semblance of where you were. Not that you’d know anyway, but it was the thought that counted. Upon further inspection, you realized you were on someone’s doorstep. A glance up, and you could see a bright neon sign. 

_Devil May Cry._

You felt an urge to check your pocket, and so you did. In it was a folded post-it note that you promptly unfolded. A note from God. 

_Dear (Y/N),_

_I know you put a lot of effort into that PowerPoint of yours, but you’re not in the human world to do any of that._

_The higher-ups are doing some sort of project related to fallen angels or demons or whatever you want to call them. I have to manage the office, so you’re going to do it for me._

_Technically, I cast you out of Heaven, so expect your transition into a fallen angel to start sometime soon. They need research on the changes in your physiology, so I highly recommend you jot it down in a journal somewhere. Also, you need to take pictures of yourself to keep track of your changes. Just text them to me, and I’ll forward them to the higher-ups. Forget, and I’ll be forced to put you on a Zoom call._

_Now, I don’t know how I’ll get you back up here after you’ve been doused in sin, but we’ll figure something out when we get there. Your transformation should be done by the end of the month._

_P.S. Get a job in the meantime, the higher-ups are preparing a series of layoffs._

That sure was news to you. On one hand, this was finally an opportunity for you to spread your figurative wings (you didn’t have real ones) and try to make something of yourself on Earth. You couldn’t wait to meet new people! On the other hand, you were worried about the changes that would happen to you. What exactly did becoming a fallen angel entail? What even was a fallen angel? Weren’t they just demons? Were you going to _become a demon?_

Oh, and you were getting laid off. That meant you had to find a job that would hire fallen angels. In a world of humans. 

You looked at the door ahead of you, taking a small breath of courage.

_I guess I have to start somewhere._

Before you could even lift a finger to open the door, it swung open in a wide arc. You stumbled backward. The force of the door opening had sent a small breeze rushing past you, ruffling both your hair and clothing. Had you been any closer to the door, it would’ve slammed against your face! Scary!

Curiously, you observed the person who had opened the door. He certainly was tall, as you had to look upwards just to get a good look at his face. And boy, did he have a _very_ handsome face, despite the scowl etched on his features. He was so handsome that it unnerved you. Something was… _off_ about his white hair and otherworldly appearance. Wasn’t he too young to have hair that white? You must have been staring because the man cleared his throat, visibly bothered.

“Do you need anything?” He asked.

“Oh, um, yes!” You stammered, gathering your bearings. “I’m looking for a job-”

“Hey, Vergil! Did someone say they’re looking for a job?” You heard a muffled voice yell from inside the building. The scowl of the man in the doorway, Vergil, only intensified, his expression tightening in annoyance. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled, exasperated. 

_What an attitude..._

“If I’m bothering you, I can leave…” You mutter, looking anywhere but him at this point.

You supposed he wasn’t going to respond.

You shifted your weight between your legs awkwardly, hands clammy, now knowing that this might not have been the best starting point to find employment. The man you were speaking to seemed to be quite a difficult character to deal with. Shortly after your failed attempt at a conversation, but before you could turn to leave, another man poked his head out of the same doorway, brusquely invading Vergil’s bubble by putting an arm around him.

Being unnaturally attractive must run in the family, you thought.

The new guy, with a grin, turned to face you.

“You lookin’ for a job, sweet cheeks?” He inquired.

“O-Of course.” 

“Well, you’re in luck! We’re just about to head out on a mission. I’m Dante, by the way.”

He extends a hand for you to shake and you accept it, a strange feeling welling up from deep inside you at the action. Unease sent a jolt down your arm. You couldn’t help but flinch, and Dante’s white eyebrows shot up curiously. 

“We already have enough participants. Additional help is unnecessary.” Vergil retorted, removing Dante’s arm from around his shoulder with only his index finger and thumb. The other man simply laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement at his brother’s behavior.

“Not anymore, Verge. Lady just called in sick.”

Vergil, incredulous, remained silent for a moment, before turning to face you once more. The chill of his gaze rattled your bones, steely eyes boring into your soul. A beat later and he shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and walked past Dante, exiting _Devil May Cry._ His hand found its way to your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine. It’s oppressive, causing you to let out a small gasp when it blended with the same feeling you felt when you shook Dante’s hand. 

“Stay out of my way,” he sneered.

And then he walked off, leaving you shaking in your boots.

Dante, slightly amused at the scene, approached you as well. His hand also found its way to your shoulder, but it was firm and reassuring. The unease you felt earlier still simmered deep within you. After what the other man had made you feel, it was more than apparent that something was up with these two. A little shake and a smile. You appreciated the effort, feeling a bit less spooked.

“You probably don’t want the job after that stunt, huh?” He asked, a glint in his eye.

Something was wrong with these men; something deep within you begged you to run away. You couldn’t help but think, however, that your instincts were being a little unreasonable. Sure, you felt awful when they touched you, but perhaps that was normal when humans touched angels. When you weren’t touching, you felt great. Well, except for when you talked to Vergil. 

Vergil seemed to be a bit of an asshole, and you truly didn’t want to work with him, but besides acting like a petulant child he didn’t necessarily do anything to warrant you not accepting the job. You figured you could just try to keep your distance. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes, either.

“I’ll be positive and hope he comes around. What’s this job, anyway?”

“You telling me you didn’t notice the big sword strapped to my back, sweet cheeks? We’re going demon hunting. You know how to fight?” Dante teased.

You were speechless. Demon hunting? You hadn’t the slightest clue how to fight.

“Um, I know how to not die?” You thought out loud. In response, Dante chuckled and gently knocked on your forehead.

“Can I safely assume that probably has something to do with how you’re casually having a conversation with me while your head’s busted open?”

Realizing you still hadn't fully healed, your hand shot up to check the crown of your head. This unintentionally plunged your hand through the thick membrane of your frontal lobe, encasing it in the spongy matter. 

Dante cringed.

Whoops.


End file.
